


Ice Cream

by WahlBuilder



Series: 30 days of rarepairs [2]
Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Ice Cream, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Motley brings Morr some ice cream.





	Ice Cream

Sometimes Motley goes away—slips away without Morr noticing. Morr is nearly constantly on high alert, and years of being a bodyguard taught him to notice the smallest changes in his surroundings—and yet, whenever the Solitaire wants it, the Solitaire slips away.

And Morr has nothing to do but wait. 

It is frustrating, both Motley’s ability to disappear, and Morr’s frustration at it. He tells himself he could continue his journey. If the Solitaire doesn’t want to travel with him anymore, be his guide, Morr can go without Motley.

And yet… He waits. For days and days, or what passes for days in the strange places they visit.

Sometimes Motley returns with a new spring in the step, othertimes Motley doesn’t seem to change in any way, as if nothing happened. Sometimes Motley brings something—an otherworldly token, a useless trinket.

Morr notices Motley out of the corner of his eyes, and shadows of the world clinging to the Solitaire wail inaudibly. And Morr tightens his grip on the klaive.

Sometimes, Motley springs right to him, and presses on the back of Morr’s neck, and brings their foreheads together. Breathing with him, long eyelashes visible in the eye holes of the mask fluttering.

And Morr doesn’t say anything.

They have so little time for that.

This time, Motley dances away from him so gracefully Morr barely notices when his Solitaire slips away—and when his Solitaire returns, walking along the waves. The endless line of golden sand stretches to the horizon, and the endless line of green sea moves in mesmerising onto the sand and back again. Breathing. There are no suns, only ambient light that comes from everywhere, soft, and warm enough that Morr’s armour has to adjust the internal temperature.

A world divided in two, gold and green.

There is beauty in all this.

Morr’s feet sink into the sand.

The figure moving toward him is unmistakably Motley, all long lines broken by clever black and white patterns, and dangling bells, their sound somehow clear over the breathing of the sea. A soft smile on the red lips.

Morr thinks about the softness of these lips, then forces himself to look away, and his gaze drops to Motley’s hands. Trinkets again—or maybe not, he thinks when he gets a good look at them as Motley gets closer and stops just a few steps away from Morr.

They look like cups made of something rather thin and porous, with stamped pattern of rectangles. The cups are filled with something cream-white and melting. Motley holds out one cup, and Morr understands it’s for him.

He locks the klaive on his back, but doesn’t take the offering right away. ‘What is it?’ 

‘Ice cream. It’s sweet. Try it.’ There is laughter hidden in Motley’s words, but it’s not mockery, and Motley’s eyes are soft like the sea breathing at their feet. Calm and gentle.

Morr closes his fingers on the cup and it yields in his grip, so he adjusts it. It looks so small in his armoured hand, and fragile. Melting.

Morr brings it to his lips and bites—and squeezes his eyes shut with an embarrassing noise unbecoming of an Incubus. He yanks the cup away, and imprint of his teeth on it, and cannot feel anything in his frozen mouth as Motley laughs, doubled over.

‘Not so fast, Morr!’ his Solitaire gasps between bouts of laughter.

Morr tries to move his tongue in his mouth and glares at Motley, and them finally feels the melting sweetness. It’s not bad.

And Motley laughed. Morr is fine to endure ice cream if it makes Motley laugh.

They have time.


End file.
